Harold stood over his father’s casket. The heavy mahogany coffin’s top was propped open. Tears flowed freely from Harold’s eyes and continued down his cheeks to his collar. Allowing himself to lose control, he bent over and wrapped his arms around his father’s lifeless body. Richard’s cold, dead cheek pressed against his own.
Harold blubbered and stammered, “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“That’s okay, Son.”
Harold released his grip and stumbled backwards.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish
Comment on this Bubble
Your comment and a link to this bubble will also appear in your Facebook feed.